


Walk away with all our little God's spare change

by kyoromii



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Gore, Emotional Manipulation, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Feral TommyInnit (Video Blogging RFP), Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Swearing bc tommyinnit, Temporary Character Death, Theyre Brothers Your Honor, TommyInnit Deserves Better (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), bc respawn, like a lot of blood, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29109492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyoromii/pseuds/kyoromii
Summary: He briefly looks over himself, searching for the fatal wound that would warrant the pool of blood he sat in, yet he couldn’t find any. And he is torn between relief and horror as he realizes the blood isn't his.orI suppose it runs in the family(title from Oh Ana by Mother, Mother)
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 645





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heyooo! Please know before you read this there is like,, a whole lot of blood in this. Like, a lot. The gore isn't graphic really but there is a TON of blood. Anyways Hope you enjoy this!

Tommy doesn't know how he got here. Although where _here_ was is another question entirely.

His vision is blurry and his breathing is sharp as his eyes refuse to focus. There's a ringing in his ear, insistent, piercing, _loud._ It fills his brain and seeps into the crevices of his thoughts. His head is flooded to the point of incoherency, and the sounds of his environment are muffled, as if his ears are filled with cotton. 

The blonde is vaguely aware that he is on his knees, but he is alarmed by how little he can comprehend. His eyes dart around wildly, yet the world around him seems to morph into abstract shapes and figures he does not recognize. The environment shifts, and the natural scenery is nothing but absurd to the young boy, a false imitation of a beach that should be familiar to him. 

Tommy is on solid ground, this much he knows, but his mind is elsewhere. Elsewhere, he floats. He floats in the void of his own thoughts as his comprehension jumbles, and he feels both overwhelmingly numb and numbingly overwhelmed at the exact same time. His hands absently pull and tug at his hair just to _feel something_ , and pain shoots up his spine as the ringing grows tumultuous and resounding; no longer just in his ears, but _everywhere._

The ringing climbs and climbs in volume, the sound pounding against Tommy’s skull. He writhes, curling into himself as the noise seems to claw behind his eyes, prodding into the tender parts of his head as it chokes him from the inside. He feels sick, and tears run angrily down his cheeks while he gasps for air. The boy heaves dryly, drool falling beneath him as he struggles to ground himself. Nails dig into his scalp, and when the ringing comes to a crescendo, Tommy begins to recognize words within it. He begins to hear phrases and sentences form amidst the torturous noise, and he slowly begins to realize that there are...voices? 

( _-iLLED HIM. HE DID IT. HE DID IT!! MAKEHIMSUFFER. DESERVED. YES. YES. NONONO. WHY. MURDERINNIT. BLOOD. HES GONE-)_

Tommy’s brows furrow, confusion slowing the stream of tears he sheds. The voices build in clarity as the blonde teen gulps for oxygen, shaking in his weak attempts to regain composure. He tries to listen to the shouts, tries to understand because _what the fuck are they talking about?_ But as he tries to focus on them, they seem to quiet slightly. His hands fall from his hair and he places his them on the land at his feet. He curls his fingers into the floor. It is damp and grainy, and he faintly feels tiny particles roll around his fingertips and settle in his nails. _Sand,_ he thinks. 

As the simple recognition comes to him, Tommy blinks, the world slowly coming back in focus as he tries to pull himself together. He closes his eyes briefly, and in that moment he simply feels the damp sand beneath him, hunching over tiredly.

Then he opens his eyes.

And when he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is blood. 

There is blood _everywhere._ Tommy looks around him and sees that the sand he’s knelt on is dyed a deep, dark red. The earlier dampness he associated with the shoreline was not the dampness he had felt, and he can't help but gawk at the bloody sand that surrounds him. Although horrifyingly, it seemed that the sand itself was not the only thing covered in blood. 

Blood clung to Tommy like a second skin. It was all over his arms, his hands almost dipped in crimson as the color stretched towards his elbows. His torn up, red and white T-shirt was soaked in it, and Tommy swore it almost looked like a red shirt with white stains. It was so _so_ much blood, and although Tommy couldn’t see himself, he was sure some of it was on his face and hair as well. 

He briefly looks over himself, searching for the fatal wound that would warrant the pool of blood he sat in, yet he couldn’t find any. And he is torn between relief and horror as he realizes the blood isn't his.

_(-ITS BEEN DONE. HE DID IT. GONE. HES GONE. FINALLY. RETRIBUTION. RETRIBUTION! FREEDOM. FREEDOM. GONE. GOOD ONE. ITS OV-)_

Tommy’s eyes trace the ruby puddle. Faintly, he hears dripping.

_(-oNE. YESSSSS. ONE DOWN, TWO TO GO. FUCK YES. MAKE HIM SUFFER. AGAI-)_

He is still frozen in place, sat on his heels on a growing red spot on the ground. He searches for the source of the dripping anyways.

_(BLOOD. BLOOD. DREAM. WE’VE WON. WE DID IT. BLOOD. AGAIN. WE’VE WON-)_

He finds it. 

_(-ITS OVER.)_

A mask with a simple smiley face lays amongst a clutter of items. 

The porcelain white accessory is half shattered. Blood drips off it in rivets. Tommy remembers.

He scrambles away from the scene in front of him, turning and tripping over himself as he stumbles towards the remains of logsteadshire. And when the events of the past 40 minutes come crashing back to him, so does the smell of ash. 

  
  
  


_An explosion. A feeling of fear. Begging._

_“Please! Stop, please!”_

_“Dream, Im sorry! Fuck, Im so sorry!”_

_There is anger in the ash. Hatred. Evil._

_“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Tommy.”_

_There is a monster. It is grotesque and vile, but it looks like an old friend._

_It is violent and inhumane but it has human teeth,_

_And it smiles._

_“I'm your only friend left, Tommy. Don’t ruin that as well.”_

  
  


_Then, there are the voices._

_ Cruel, bloodthirsty, seething. _

_“...Shut the fuck up.”_

_There is anger in the ash. Hatred. Bloodlust._

_“What-”_

  
  


_Tommy kills Dream in the sand with his bare hands. He drives his fists into his face, over and over again in brutal repetition. He claws, and mauls him like a wild animal. He does not hear Dream cry. He does not bother to listen anyways._

_Dream struggles, flailing under the teen fueled with bloodlust. Tommy however, does not relent. Instead, he sinks his teeth into his cheek and_ **_tears._** _He thinks this is when he blacks out, his eyes unseeing and his ears deafened by the roaring of voices in his head. The blonde feels like he's taking a backseat in his own body, and he can only watch as he tears Dream apart. Tommy tastes copper, and with a ferocity he's never known, he destroys Dream until he's long dead; he doesn't stop until he is forced to, when Dream's body despawns and all his items clatter to the floor_

  
  
  
  


_The voices cheers for him._

_Tommy is lost._  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. 2

_Technoblade is coming home from a nearby village when he sees it._

He had just gathered some supplies from a small place further up north, and was trudging his way back home on Carl. The night seemed colder today. The wind harasses Technoblade’s cape and careens through his hair, his pink locks fluttering and whipping into his face. The piglin hybrid splutters as he catches a few strands in his mouth, grimacing at the inconvenience but only happy that his hybrid induced thick skin saved him from the additional discomfort of the cold. 

Technoblade sighs, and he switches to brushing his hair out of his face every few seconds as he lets Carl walk them home. The pinkette was exhausted, and he could not wait to get inside and attend to his retirement hobbies in peace. _Although Techno would later come to realize that such was not the case._

The cabin grows closer as they continue on into the clearing where his home resides, and Techno is almost tempted to jump off, run ahead, and let Carl settle into his penn on his own. Instead, Technoblade stops. Carl neighs as if he’s seen something, jostling the anarchist on his back to get his attention, and Technoblade brushes his hair back to get a better look.

He sees blood, tracked in the snow in a trail in the distance, a straight line of footprints running along the side of his house and well passed it. 

The voices yell.

_(-mmY. DANGER. BLOOD. E. E. BLOOD. HELP HIM. FAMILY. DEAD. HURT. BLOOD. E. LIKE Y-)_

Technoblade turns his attention to the trail, abandoning his path home as he slowly takes Carl and himself closer to the red path. _Heh??,_ he thinks, eyebrows furrowed and shoulders tensed with newfound suspicion. His eyes trace the tracks in the snow, and he cautiously follows the trail as he searches for the source, squinting amidst the cold wind that obscures his vision.

He finds the source.

A short distance away stands a figure, walking straight ahead absently. There is an aura of unease the figure leaves behind as it walks, and as Technoblade gets closer, recognition falls upon his face. 

‘ _Tommy?’,_ he thinks, seeing the familiar tuft of blonde hair as the distance between them grows smaller. The pinkette is confused, what is he doing here? Why is he trailing blood? Technoblade begins to speed up Carl into a trot towards the boy, and confusion turns to horror as he realizes the teen is _covered_ in blood.

“Tommy?” 

Tommy hesitates, but continues walking. He does not say a word, and the only sign Techno has of Tommy even acknowledging his presence is in the way he stills briefly before continuing forward. Now closer, Technoblade can see the boy’s state up close, and concern rises in his stomach as observes the gore that covers him. “Tommy?” He repeats, getting off his horse and slowly walking closer to him.

Still nothing. The boy does not make a move to stop, so Technoblade continues his approach. He catches up to him in long strides, afraid for the young teen’s well being ( _although he’ll never admit it_ ) because he was covered in a fatal amount of blood. Tommy does not stop walking, almost as if he’s in a trance, dead to the world and unaware of his own surroundings. Techno places a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Hey-” 

A question of ‘ _are you okay?’_ dies in his throat as the boy whips his head around at the action. 

Tommy’s eyes are dilated, and red flecks dance around his blue eyes like drops of blood. Technoblade leans backward as the blonde’s face contorts into a snarl, snapping at him with the ferocity of a rabid dog. Tommy tackles the piglin hybrid, sending them tumbling into the snow. 

Techno grips the boy by the shoulders, trying to keep him away as the teen attacks him. “Tommy! Tommy stop!” He tries, rolling them over in the snow and settling over the boy’s stomach. He pins Tommy’s hands to his chest, barely flinching as the teen digs unkempt fingernails into the hands that hold him. Technoblade’s grip tightens, and he is surprised by how hard it is to restrain the seemingly frail blonde. He was unnaturally skinny, yet the boy continued to writhe and struggle beneath him. He thrashes and whines, throwing his head back violently as he continues to snap at his brother above him.

Technoblade is scrambled, and he finds himself frantically trying to piece a coherent thought together while his little brother seems to be roleplaying a fucking polar bear. He searches his face for a sign of what the _hell_ is going on, and tries calling out to Tommy again in a desperate attempt to calm him down. “Hey, calm down! Stop, Tommy!” The boy does not listen, continuing to roar and yowl at him, and no amount of shaking seems to pull him out of his stupor. 

Nails dig deeper into Techno’s hand, and he hisses, the pain loosening his grip ever so slightly. Tommy tugs his hands out of the hybrid’s grip, and Techno braces himself for an attack,

But it does not come.

Instead, Technoblade watches as Tommy presses his hands into his ears, rolling onto his side as he curls into himself. His body is so incredibly tense, Techno notes that it looks like he might snap like a rubber band. The blonde yowls as he struggles to stay still, and when he looks up at Technoblade, the bleary, unfocused eyes make it clear to him that Tommy does not see him. _Not really._

Technoblade recognizes with a horrid sense of familiarity that Tommy does not see or hear him right now. He thought he didn’t know what was going on, but now he realizes he knows all too well. He remembers the bloodlust. He remembers the episodes. He remembers the feeling of being trapped. 

Technoblade wraps his arms around the blonde teen, tucking his head under his chin. “It’s okay, Tommy. You’re okay.” He speaks into his hair, looking into the forest with conflicted eyes. He feels so much at this moment: worry, confusion, rage. A small, dark part of him is happy- happy that he isn’t the only one anymore. That he isn’t alone, but Techno pushes that thought aside in favor of rubbing his hand comfortingly down Tommy’s back. The teen is shaking with his hands gripping Techno’s cape like a lifeline. His breath is sharp and uneven, gulping vigorously as if he’s holding back the urge to take a chunk out of the piglin-hybrid’s neck. Technoblade shushes him, combing his hands through his brother’s hair as he grieves for him. He knows how hard living with the voices can be, and he knows that Tommy will struggle and get worse before he gets better. 

Technoblade does what he can to comfort the blonde, speaking in whispered assurances and insisting that he’ll be okay. He’s unsure if he’s helping at all, Phil and Wilbur were always better at these kinds of things. _God,_ what Techno wouldn’t do to have Phil here right now. Especially now. He was, after all, the man that helped Techno through his voices when it happened. He shakes his head, there’s no time for regrets now. He’ll do what he can to help, and when the teen breaks down into sobs in his arms, Technoblade will hold him tighter. When Tommy cries, Techno will wonder who did this to him, with grit teeth and clenched fists. The voices will scream and cry and mourn. However right now, he does not pry. He lets the boy spill his sorrows onto his lap, and listens despite its incoherency. 

And when he takes the sickly boy back into his cabin, he can't help but wish he could do more. _But right now_ , he thinks, as he lays a freshly dressed Tommy down on a bed, _This is enough_.


	3. AUTHORS NOTE

Just a quick A/N to say that this will be becoming a chaptered fic! So I do hope yall stick around for some more heheh

**Author's Note:**

> hallo! Hope you liked this fic! I was always super interested in the idea of Tommy have The Voices™ and it being hereditary in some way so I wrote this :00 If you have any questions or thoughts on this feel free to comment smth! hehe


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